


The Things We Carry

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: After Delphi, Drift and Ambulon discuss the burden of their shared past.





	The Things We Carry

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to the fic _Doctor's Orders_ , but it's not necessary to have read that.

“Come on back,” Ambulon said as he parted the curtain that partitioned the examination slabs from the rest of the medbay and beckoned for Drift to follow. 

Drift hopped off of the workbench that he’d unceremoniously parked himself on as he’d waited - Ratchet’s, naturally, and he knew the old medic would have some choice words for him were he around to witness such a display - and trailed along behind Ambulon. 

Apart from the two of them and a recuperating Pipes that was occupying a berth in the corner, the medbay was empty, and Drift took it as a sign of good fortune. The medbay, and the lone medic that had been occupying it until their trip to Delphi, had rarely seen respite since the _Lost Light’s_ fateful launch, but perhaps the plague had marked the end of their quest’s rough beginning. 

“No Ratchet or First Aid today?” Drift asked as he approached the slab that Ambulon had prepared.

“No. But I can assure you that I’m more than qualified,” Ambulon replied testily, prompting Drift to raise his hands in a pacifying gesture.

“I didn’t intend to doubt your skills. It’s just unusual, not seeing Ratchet here. It feels like he’s always working.” Drift hopped up onto the berth and laid down, resting his hands on his lower abdomen. “That’s his go-to excuse whenever I invite him out for a drink.”

“His shifts have been temporarily cut back while he recovers,” Ambulon explained while he unspooled the cable for the diagnostic terminal. “We also want to ensure that his, uh, new hands are all in working order before he attempts any significant procedures.” 

“Makes sense. You wouldn’t want them to freeze up when he’s operating, or something.” Drift opened the panel for his medical port and watched as Ambulon plugged in the cable with a practiced hand. “Or for Pharma’s spirit to possess them and inflict unimaginable horrors.”

Drift chuckled at the joke. Ambulon’s lips remained pressed in that same stern line. Drift’s laughter petered out with a cough.

“Bad joke. But you know, I was blind when I met Ratchet,” Drift said. “The circuit booster did that. I’m guessing you’ve seen your fair share of patients with the same problem. And without my optics, all I knew about him was the feeling of his hands.” His smile was wistful at the memory as he recalled the warmth and assurance they’d held as they clasped his own hands. “His new one’s - Pharma’s - they just aren’t the same. But I knew it had to be done. Nothing makes Ratchet happy like practicing medicine.”

Drift hummed to himself to fill the awkward silence left by Ambulon’s lack of a response.

“Right. Uh, sorry. I know it’s probably still sinking in. Everything that happened back there. I can’t imagine what the three of you must be going through.”

“We all have our ways of managing,” Ambulon said in a manner that clearly did not invite further conversation on the subject. 

While Ambulon turned to examine the information that was currently downloading onto the terminal, Drift quietly twiddled his thumbs and marveled over how easy it was to take something as simple as a little dexterity for granted. 

“I’m assuming you don’t want to talk about Delphi,” Drift said, “and I understand. But how are you adjusting to being onboard? I know it must be a big change from what you’re used to.”

Ambulon was quiet for a moment, fixated on the lines of the code displayed before him as he scrutinized them for any anomalies. His lips remained in that same stubborn line, his brow furrowed with concentration, and Drift mused to himself that the look of intense concentration bore little difference to the medic’s usual scowl. 

He figured his attempts at smalltalk were futile and was prepared to sit in silence for the remainder of his appointment, but after a moment Ambulon finally responded. 

“The crew still seems to carry certain stigmas.” Ambulon’s gaze remained trained on the monitor as he spoke. Drift watched as one of his hands began to scratch at his wrist, bringing some flecks of white paint raining down onto the desk. “I’m not surprised. I expected as much from a ship full of Autobots. And I’m used to it, after dealing with Pharma for so long.”

“But you were hoping things might be different now,” Drift concluded, to which Ambulon simply grunted in affirmation. “If it’s any consolation, I can empathize. I’ve been an Autobot for a long time and I still get looks. I hear the gossip that goes around Swerve’s.”

“I haven’t actually been,” Ambulon admitted, his absentminded scratching growing more insistent. There was a growing patch of purple left in the wake of his restless digits. “To the bar. It hasn’t seemed worth it, given the company.”

Drift folded his arms behind his head and heaved a sigh. “See, _this_ is why Ratchet needs to get out more. I’m always telling him this. He should be taking you and First Aid out for drinks, helping introduce you to the crew, that sort of thing. Be something of an ambassador, get the crew to warm up to you.”

“He has bigger things to worry about,” Ambulon said, and he stopped scratching once the diagnostic data finished downloading. “Your vitals look stable. You’re processing energon again, which means your tank and fuel pump are both in working order. You’ve been recovering well.”

“I’ve got a good team of medics looking out for me,” Drift said, offering a smile and a warm timbre to the cadence of his words.

Ambulon looked away, seeking solace from the unexpected display of kindness by scanning through the the emotionless void that was Drift’s diagnostic file. “Your nanites will be able to repair any of the remaining damage on their own. If all goes well, you should be back to full health in a few days.”

“Glad to hear it,” Drift said, his laugh more relieved than jovial as Ambulon disconnected the cable and closed up his port. “I’ve still got work to do here. We can’t have me out of commission just yet.”

As Drift hoisted himself up into a seated position and made to stand, Ambulon faced him once more and said, “If I may, I’d like to quickly do an examination of your spark before you go. Just to be safe.”

The rhythmic whirl of the spark in question faltered for a moment, and Drift’s hands gripped the edge of the slab to steady himself against the sudden feeling of trepidation that left his spinal-struts feeling locked in place. But he yielded, forcing his frame back down onto his back as he said, “Of course. You, uh, you don’t think there’s anything wrong, do you? Because, uh, I’m not a doctor or anything, but I had a little - an incident, you could say, a while back. And I’m not sure if that’ll complicate anything. If I’m sick, I mean.”

“I’m just being cautious,” Ambulon assured him, and as Drift attempted to get comfortable before exposing his spark, Ambulon looked to the terminal once more. “Given the circumstances at Delphi, we didn’t have much of an opportunity to fully study the effects of the virus. I just want to be sure that everything’s in working order, but I don’t have any reason to believe that it’s not.”

“You gave me a bit of a scare there, Ambulon,” Drift said with a wary chuckle as he issued the command for his chestplates to part, revealing the life-source that was nestled in his core. “Thought the plague might be taking me down with it. I suppose that would be Pharma’s revenge, considering I was the one who cut off his hands.”

Ambulon sat down and adjusted his eyepiece and the overhead lighting before leaning in to examine the spark that was now bared to him. “Do you believe in some sort of divine retribution?”

Drift cracked open an optic, only realizing then that they’d shuttered closed once he’d opened his chamber. “Pardon?”

“Ratchet had mentioned that you’re a Spectralist,” Ambulon clarified. “I’m - I’m not very spiritual myself, so I don’t know too much about it.” 

“Ah.” Drift winced as Ambulon very gently prodded the edges of his casing to examine the integrity. “That’s a difficult question. I’m not sure I really have an answer for you. At the moment, at least.”

“Are you a believer in self-determination?”

“You’re getting me with all the hard hitting questions today, aren’t you?” Drift’s vents hitched as Ambulon grazed over the thinnest portion of his casing and braced for the comment that he knew was inevitably coming. “I...hm. I believe in the power of our own actions. But I also believe that sometimes there’s a greater plan for us, and that we should strive to see it fulfilled.” 

“I see,” was all Ambulon said, and as Drift lifted his head to peer at what had captured the medic’s attention, he saw that Ambulon was appraising the cause of Drift’s earlier concern.

A pale, thin line, not unlike a surgical scar that lingered on one’s plating after a procedure, marred the diameter of Drift’s spark. It was a ghostly white, almost indiscernible from the blinding blue of the spark itself, but evident to Ambulon’s trained optic all the same. 

“Your medical records had mentioned this,” Ambulon said, his tone measured. A good sign, in Drift’s opinion; not even such an anomaly was a cause for immediate concern.

“A sword,” Drift said.

“It’s odd,” Ambulon mused, his brow once again furrowed into that scrutinizing glare of his as he traced along the line of the mark. “It’d odd that it would have left a scar like this. It seems almost organic, in a way.”

“A reminder of the past, I suppose,” Drift murmured. “It’s just another consequence of my actions.”

Ambulon’s optics widened. Drift suppressed a laugh at the sight, finding it a comical contrast to his usual cross stare. “You did this yourself?”

Drift’s own optics grew weary at the memory of the incident. “Seemed like the best option at the time - the only one, really. But yes, it was my choice. That’s your self-determination, I guess you could say.”

“And you’ll always have this reminder.” Ambulon gave the scar of sorts once last look-over and said, “It’s almost like a nodal plane formed there. But don’t take my word for it. I’m not much of an expert in sparkology. You can close, now.”

Drift triggered his chestplates closed and sat up so that his legs were draped over the side of the slab. “That’s too bad. I actually have a report here, on how a certain method of light therapy has been shown to help alleviate spark arrhythmias.” He brandished said datapad and extended it to Ambulon in offering. “A Spectralist actually came up with the method. I was going to give it to Ratchet, but he’d probably pass it off as some hippy slag.”

“You sound like First Aid,” Ambulon intoned. “He’s always going on about alternative forms of medicine.”

“I, uh, guess you’re not a fan, either,” Drift said, withdrawing his hand. “To each their own, I guess, but it wouldn’t hurt to be more openminded about these things. First Aid was right about his jump-starting technique, after all.”

“I suppose,” Ambulon conceded after a moment. 

“Things looked alright, then?” Drift asked as he stood. “The plague didn’t infect my spark, or anything like that?”

Ambulon didn’t look up from the datapad he was scrawling notes on as he said, “Everything checks out. But if you doubt my ability to perform a proper examination then you can schedule an appointment with Ratchet.”

Drift frowned, regarding the medic with pity for the first time. “I trust your judgment, Ambulon. As a doctor and a person. We’ve come from the same place, after all. That’s why you didn’t comment on my casing.”

“Your badge,” Ambulon said. “Your old one, I mean.”

“You’re not alone here,” Drift said, and he tweaked his aura to project a sense of assurance, of empathy and understanding. “We’ve both been Decepticons, but we’re both Autobots now. The crew will come to understand that the past doesn’t define who we are, even though we still carry reminders of it.”

Ambulon scratched his arm, leaving purple in the aftermath. “You chose to be a Decepticon, Drift. I was an M.T.O. That choice was made for me.”

“But you _did_ make the choice to become an Autobot,” Drift asserted. “And no one here can take that away from you. So come hang with us at Swerve’s sometime, Ambulon. And bring First Aid and Ratchet with you. Drinks will be on me.”

As Drift turned to leave, Ambulon stopped scratching and called out, “Wait.”

“Hm?” Drift cast a glance back over his shoulder. His great sword stood proudly against his back, only having briefly left his side during the examination.

“The journal,” Ambulon said. “About the spark therapy. I’ll pass it on to First Aid for you. He’d be interested in that sort of thing.”

Drift’s grin was broad, and Ambulon marveled over how someone with a past so grim was still capable of such a feat. “That’s very kind of you. I’m glad that you two have each other.” 

Ambulon sheepishly averted his gaze as he accepted the datapad. “We’re just coworkers, that’s all.”

“He calms you,” Drift said, his smile one of tranquility, much as the situation he described. “I’ve seen it, whenever you two are together. Don’t be afraid to let him in.”

Drift left before Ambulon could protest that assumption, but once alone Ambulon found himself grateful that he didn’t have to.


End file.
